Cake
by Soulreciever
Summary: With every taste he took from a perfected recipe he would recall another memory, another instant of emotion and joy that would wrap itself about his fractured heart as a brace, until cooking became as the greatest of salves. AU, angst, fluff, slash
1. Mochi

Cake.

1: Mochi.

T: In which I start a new YnM fic and *gasp* it's AU! Anyways apart from the obvious you should be on the look out for slash, angst, fluff, semi OC moments and the potential for great swaths of exposition down the line! I own nothing you see here other than the plot, mores the pity!

X

Despite the fevered wishes of his father his path in life had been destined for this outcome from his very first moments in life, for his mother's love for food, for the joys it could inspire in the lives of even the darkest of his hearts, had been so strong that not even death could mute it's ire nor it's influence.

He can recall still the happier days when they'd walk the three of them together down the long forking pathways of the Asakusa souvenir shops, the strong, unique, scent of warm aduki bean paste as a promise to his young mind of the treat that would always come when they had each of them offered their prayers to Buddha and his mother had browsed a little at the various knickknacks dotted about the stalls.

Oh so quickly the deep, yet subtle, tastes of Japan had been replaced with the more 'in your face' fair that was so beloved of the American's as his father had chased after the desperate hope that maybe, just maybe, they might yet save his mother the fate scared sharp into her DNA.

There are memories attached also to these tastes, some full of the difficult uncertainly of having to adapt to a society unlike that which he had been born to, some full of the spark of excitement that seemed always just a heart beat in the busy little suburb they called now home and the rest mired in the darkness that came as hope turned into a black and certain inevitability.

He can remember still that last day; can remember how his father had woken him with a haphazard peanut butter sandwich and a cold cup of tea that'd tasted strongly of the bitterer edges of the leaf. Can remember the clean lines of the outfit he'd picked out for himself, of how he'd asked his father to turn down their neighbour's offer of sticky buns in order that he might make his mother proud of how clean he'd been able to stay and how she'd smiled just a little despite how tired she'd looked when he'd told her this news.

He'd refused to cry, to waste the light of her existence on foolish tears and, instead, had poured his grief into more practical avenues; a fresh lick of paint for his bedroom, finally putting the last working touches on the aircraft he and his father had started together in what seemed now another lifetime and by slowly working his way through the seemingly endless folders filled with handwritten recipes.

With every taste he took from each success story he would recall another memory, another instant of emotion and joy that would wrap itself about his fractured heart as a brace, until cooking became as the greatest of salves…as his reason for being.

Yet he had been so very aware of the hopes his father held for his future, of what disappointing him might mean, that'd he'd kept the interest merely as a hobby, had dedicated his every moment at school to becoming something of worth.

By the time he'd turned 16 it'd seemed that he'd achieved that end, for he was a model pupil, beloved by all that met him and then…

…then he'd collapsed, without warning, right in the middle of a busy road way.

That was the first time that he'd ever seen how lost his father could look, that he understood how much the elder had kept hidden away as his mother had slowly wasted away into nothing and that revelation had unsettled him more than even the thought of what such a collapse might mean for his future.

Once he'd been told that, beyond all reasonable doubt, he had escaped his mother's fate; that he'd fainted for nothing more than exhaustion, he'd sat his father down and they'd talked until their voices were raw for the exercise.

In the end it was his choice of bedfellow, rather than his desire to chase after a profession with little chance of any form stability financial or otherwise, that'd brought about the shouting and cleft a rift between them so deep that, even after all this time, they remained still but passing acquaintances.

Time seemed to compress after that, ten years flowing so fast that he has to pinch himself some times to make certain that he is not day dreaming.

He'd gone back to university in order to gain a practical base behind his natural cooking talent, had passed every course without breaking a sweat, had been chosen as an apprentice for one of the most talented men in the profession and, at only 20, had been offered a high ranking job in a thriving patisserie.

Six years later he'd bought up his own cake shop and stolen away the patisseries accountant both so that he might be spared the nightmare of keeping his own books and also in order that he might have a friendly face their amid the staff to offer him a small confidence boost when he needed it….

…or at least that'd been his hope, in truth the upright, cool, individual know to the world as Seishiro Tatsumi had somehow decided that he needed 'looking after' and had come to the conclusion that the best way to achieve this end was to basically deny him even the smallest of luxuries.

And that was why he was currently hunkered in one of the furthest corners of the kitchen, behind a small pile of recently acquired mixing bowls, with a small chocolate cupcake clutched in his hands.

"I mean what is the world coming to when a guy can't even sample just one cake for the sake of quality control?"

"If you are going to talk to yourself at least have the decency to do as such in a whisper, it wouldn't do for the staff to think you mad as well as idiotic, after all." He sounds, as always, bored and as he shoots, lightning fast, onto his feet, he is unsurprised to see that emotion mirrored in the grey blue of his eyes.

"Oh, Tatsumi, I didn't realise you were still about! You see the thing is that this cupcake dropped off of the tray and it seemed sort of pointless to waste it entirely…" A hand stops him before he can real off any more the entirely pointless excuse and, pushing his glasses back up his nose, Tatsumi mumbles ,

"How you weren't beaten to death with a whisk long before now will forever remain a mystery to me," before snatching back the cupcake and throwing it into the trash compactor. "You and I both know that that cupcake is exactly the same as each and every chocolate cupcake you've made since perfecting the recipe and that, therefore, it's as close to chocolate cupcake perfection as can be achieved by human hands."

"But what if it's not? What if I've suddenly lost all my talent and we're serving substandard products to the customer? Think of the damage to our reputation, the lawsuits, the substantial amounts of money we'd lose, all because you wouldn't let me have one teeny weenie cupcake."

"One cupcake, three strawberry tarts, an entire banoffee pie, 18 jam tarts and…let me see…" Pausing the other glances at the clipboard that had, almost magically, appeared in his hands, before concluding, "A four tier chocolate orange sponge cake."

He was absolutely one hundred percent certain that he'd been entirely on his own when he'd snitched the sponge cake, indeed he'd even gone to the lengths of shutting himself in the walk in fridge for the half hour it'd taken him to wolf the thing down and yet still…

"I swear you're telepathic or something." He remarks as he works his way to the sink and carefully washes his hands precisely three times.

"Indeed." Comes the expected deadpan response before the other ads, "Watari wants a moment of your time."

"I thought I told you to find something to distract him?"

"Apparently it was not so easy a task as I had believed."

Sighing he gently divests himself of his apron, hangs it up in it's usual place just next to the edge of his section of the kitchen and, with a parting shot of, "Try not to let this place burn down while I'm gone," he throws on his coat and steps out into the chill December air.

He deliberately circles his way back around to the front of the bakery and, smiling a little to himself, presses his forehead against the window. His eyes take in the simple artistry of the cakes he has created, the various colours and textures and, as always, he is swept into the last memory where his mother had been truly herself.

_Papa had asked him nicely to try hard at school, had told him that mama didn't need the extra worry of him doing badly at school especially when she felt already guilty for having to move them so very far. _

_He knew papa was right and so he had been working very hard, so hard that he'd gotten lots of praise and they'd both agreed that he could ask for something to reward that fact. _

_Smiling he takes mama's hand and runs her down the street as fast as his feet can carry him until eventually they reach _that_ shop._

"_I want something from here, mama." He informs her as he presses his head hard against the glass and stares, hard, at the jewel like objects lined up just outside his reach._

_She starts to laugh then and leaning down she presses a sweet little kiss to his head before she asks, "Promise me that you shall never change, Asato,"_

Of course he hadn't understood what she had found so very funny then, for the opportunity to taste one of the pretty looking puddings had seemed as much a treat to him as the gadgets or playthings that his parents had expected him to request. Yet she hadn't smiled for what'd seemed like weeks and he'd been so desperate to keep her happy…to not be a burden to her…

Ah but he was allowing himself to daydream again and it wasn't really all that fair on Watari to be lingering without true need, especially when he did actually enjoy the elder man's company despite all his…unique characteristics.

Shoving his hands deep into his pockets he takes in a deep scent of the wonderful air that lurked about his bakery and is about to step back onto his original path when his eyes catch onto the figure stood tight against the adjacent window.

Hair the colour of sun bleached wheat and skin so pail it seems all but translucent against the press of the bones at his wrists, yet it is the opulent beauty of the kimono he is wearing that really catches his attention, for to see such a garment on a man was unusual enough within the limits of even this city and to see one of such quality…

Mind scrambling for the little Japanese that he recalled still from his youth he straitens his posture just a little and steps towards the other man with the intent of introducing himself and then an equally well dressed woman is there at the other's side, frown clear or her face and anger clear in her voice.

They remain for but a moment more, the woman talking to the man in hard, unhappy, Japanese and then they are gone, the woman dragging the man with such a forceful grip that bruises seem a certainty.

He stays, motionless, for a full five minutes after that and then his mobile begins to ring, the upbeat synth melody starting him back into reality,

"Hello?"

"Where the heck are you, Tsu? The stick rang to say you were on your way about twenty minutes together and that's a long time to walk two miles even for you."

"Oh….Watari."

"Yes, you should've known that from the amazing little thing known as 'caller ID'."

"Sorry, sorry…my head's not quite here."

"Yes well that much is clear enough." A pause then, "It seems as though you're not quite in the right place to hear about my ideas for CAKE REVOLUTION today, still I have to admit I'm a little curious as to what's gotten so under your skin so I'll go get cheesecake and we can turn our business meeting into a little gossip session, ok?"

The question is, of course rhetorical and as if to drive this point home the other cuts the call all of a second after posing it, leaving him to once again question his apparent lack of good taste in the matter of friends.


	2. Cheesecake

2. Cheesecake.

T: In which there is the threat of actual plot appearing! All warnings remain the same and I still own nothing you see other than the plot!

X

More than anything else Yukata Watari was an enigma.

Not that he'd thought as such the first time the slightly older man had, quite literally, burst his way into his life….no, when he'd picked the gangly mess of limbs and hair off of his dorm room floor, he'd been absolutely certain of the character of the then stranger…but, of course, that was entirely the point.

Everything about Watari's appearance, from the deliberately bad bleach job on his hair, to his obsessive, scattered and occasionally demented personality, was designed to distract everyone from the scared little boy lurking deep in the other's heart.

It'd taken years of knowing the other, of listening to the thousands upon thousands of world changing inventions he crafted in his mind every minute he wasn't spent attempting to make said inventions a reality, to gain the trust required to see even a little of this 'true' Watari and even now, after an entire decade of friendship, he'd not really seen much past that glimpse He was, of course, versed enough in the workings of the mind to know that there was some trauma lurking deep beneath the strangeness, to know not to push for more than Watari was willing to give and to simply act dumb whenever the other's smiles look a little strained or it was clear that he was reliving some particularly unpleasant memory.

For today the other was every inch the bouncy, enthused, individual that he had the mixed fortune to call 'best friend' and had invited him into the chaotic mess of half finished inventions, blueprints and various fast food cartons, that'd once been a much desired ground floor flat, with a wide, wide smile.

"Hmm, The Stick's denying you tasting privileges again, isn't he?" The other enquires as he begins clearing a space for the pair of them on his well loved sofa.

"He said that I'm not going to make any sort of profit if I keep eating the stock, but how am I meant to be certain that the customers will enjoy things if I can't taste them, plus it's not as though I can't replace anything I eat!"

"Yes, well I hate to tell you so, but…" Satisfied with his cleaning effort Watari flumps onto the sofa and spreads his mouth out into an entirely too smug smile.

Groaning he settles, somewhat more gently, into a the space a few inches from the other and responds,

"You aren't really the most unbiased of people when it comes to Tatsumi, 'Tari, plus he really is the best accountant I know and…you know…" He flushes a little at the last and, for a moment, Watari's smile becomes all the dimmer.

The truth was that his best friend was madly in love with his accountant and had been as such since the very instant the pair had met six years previous….not that you'd know it for the way the inventor treated the other whenever they were together or the way that he bad mouthed him whenever they weren't…but because they were best friends he'd know.

…Which made the next bit of the story all the more shameful than it already was…

For, in a drunken fit of loneliness and self revulsion that he hoped never to repeat, he'd ended up not only sleeping with Tatsumi but, thanks to post coital guilt, actually starting up a relationship with the other.

Of course there'd not been anything there for it to go much further than simply lust filled sex and they'd quite swiftly agreed that they were much better simply being friends…which had just left him with the headache of just how he was meant to ever look Watari in the eyes ever again.

In the end he'd taken Watari's lead and simply acted like the matter had never happened, aware always that things were not quite as they had been between them…that they might not ever be as such ever again.

"Where's San today?" He enquires, desperate to claw back the sense of levity that he'd destroyed by allowing himself to chatter without thinking.

Smile easing back into something truer Watari glances over each shoulder before responding,

"You know, I've no idea, usually she's out from whatever teeny space she's squished herself into the second she realises that you're about and that, as such, she's likely to be spoiled rotten."

"What! I don't spoil her."

"Please, I still remember how I had to put her on a crash diet the last time you looked after her for me."

"Ok, fine, you win."

"Of course I do." The other retorts, smug smile gracing his lips a moment before he hefts himself back onto his feet and states, "Ok, so I'm going to go secure us some cheesecake and when I get back I want to hear all about whatever the heck that weirdness was."

He makes a gentle sound of affirmation in the back of his throat and, letting out a little breath of air, he allows himself to slide a little further into the chair…at which point the topic of their previous conversation at last makes an appearance.

For a few years during college Watari had become a member of an animal activists group and had personally spear headed numerous raids on cosmetic companies in order to liberate their animal test subjects. Eventually he'd become embittered by the other members of his fraction, by how they were using the cause for selfish means and he'd stepped away from that part of his life, yet not before he'd met 003.

She'd been little more than a ball of mismatched fur and he can remember still how certain Watari had been that he'd come to late to save her…that she'd die without ever knowing the better side of human nature. Yet there'd been a spark of stubborn determination in her even then and slowly she'd gotten stronger…gotten to a point where Watari felt certain enough to give her a new name to go along with her new life.

"Ah, good afternoon young lady and how are we today?"

Bright yellow eyes stare at him a moment with a look of bored curiosity and then, stretching as she goes, the cat hops up into the indent left by Watari and curls out into a deliberately adorable shape.

"Oh, I see, you're in that sort of a mood are you?" The enquiry comes as Watari re-appears from the kitchen, a tea tray laden with goodies and is met with a soft meow, as well as a further tightening of the cutsie posture. Sighing the inventor mumbles, "I don't know, the things I do for you, cat," before depositing the tray in the one flat spot on his coffee table and folding himself up in the small amount of carpet between the table and the foot of the sofa.

There is a pause as the inventor cuts him a very generous slice of a very shiny looking chocolate cheesecake and pours him a cup of tea, then the other enquires,

"So, this is the part where you tell me everything."

"There's not really very much to tell, I was making sure the window display looked ok when I spotted this guy decked out in a proper old school kimono, you know the sort that likely cost more than either of us make in a year."

"Blonde, slight with eyes so green they seemed almost to be made of cut emeralds?"

"Yes! But how did you know?"

"Please, you've known me how long?" The inventor enquires as he slides a trashy magazine out from under the various other pieces of detritus on the coffee table and, after a swift flip through in order to locate a specific page, passes the thing over to him.

It was one of the big photo intense features on some random celebratory party, the sort of feature that he found tacky beyond belief but that Watari sucked up like a sponge for some bizarre reason that he'd never really pressed to understand.

There in the large centre photo was the man he had seen in front of the bakery, his slight form dressed in yet another opulent kimono, the woman yet again tight at his side.

"Kurosaki Hisoka," he mumbles as his eyes at last catch the delicate kanji of the boy's name as well as the harsher Romanisation.

"Tsu, you were just curious about him for curiosities sake, right?" There is a note of concern there now in his friend's voice and, sliding the magazine back onto the table, he enquires,

"Why?"

"Because if rumour is to be believed that guy is not only the love child of Tony Rothschild, but also the express favourite of Kazutaka Muraki."

Both names ring a faint sort of bell in his head and yet he can not quite ascertain as to why, something that has Watari's face scrunching up in a familiar mask of exasperation,

"You know that you can watch things other than the cooking channel on that little TV I bought for you last Christmas right?"

"Yes, yes, you can give me the 'you can have a social life outside of the business' lecture again later, for now I'd appreciate the mental nudge."

"Tony Rothschild is the guy at the centre of that very expensive art fraud, along with copious amounts of other nasty things and Muraki is the reason he's not serving time in jail right now."

"Art fraud…art fraud…oh the one at the Brooklyn Museum?" Watari nods in a slow, slow, manner and understanding that this means he has not quite gotten the point his friend is driving at he sifts through the little he knew about the crime in question.

Over a course of several months some of the museums rarer exhibits had vanished just long enough to be missed and then appeared again as though nothing had occurred. Of course after the third such incident the museums directors had begun to suspect foul play and had put their fraud squad onto the case.

Several high ranking museum officials had been found to be harbouring replicas of the items that'd vanished, as well as receipts for further replicas that had been sold already on the black market.

The fraud squad had discovered that there had been plans to eventually replace each item with a highly skilled replica and that each official had simply been pawns in a much larger plot and then…

One by one the bodies of each museum official who'd been placed on the suspect list had begun appearing in very public locations, each mutilated enough that it was clear that they were meant as warning and yet it'd only been once one of their own had also fallen victim to this message that the investigation had come to a complete, shuddering, halt.

For a few days afterward the papers had spewn out images of the corpses, photos of their living faces and the most inane information on their lives, a few had even dared link Rothschild in with it all…then some vapid self obsessed celebratory had done something entirely scandalous and the world had moved on.

He can see the corpses again in his minds eye, their mutilated faces overlapping with Hisoka's in his head and he is struck by the sharp, dry, want to vomit.

He knows it is stupid, knows that he knows nothing of the man other than his name and yet….

And yet…


	3. Mouse

3. Moose.

T: This chapter has been somewhat laboured what with a bout of tendonitis in my right hand and the somewhat difficult transition between how things were to how they are going to be from here on in, but it's here now so I guess that's something. All warnings remain as they were in chapter one and I still own nothing other than the plot.

X

They'd talked for a long time afterwards in the unfocused, rambling, sort of way that you perfected after a few years of friendship with someone. Eventually he'd started yawning and Watari had waved him off with the usual giant grin and a worried enquiry of,

"You are letting it go, aren't you Tsu?"

He'd nodded as he'd stumbled his way out into the other's tiny little hallway and yet already he was certain that the matter would not so easily drop out of his head. Of course that was the most logical way forward, the man was no more to him than a lost sale, yet again and again his head kept cycling back to the photo of the other that'd been there in Watari's magazine.

That image had sprouted in a thousand entirely random places in the landscape of his dreams and had continue to dog his mind as he slid his way out of bed and into the shower.

Hot water and the rush of steam helps to focus his mind just enough for him to realise just what it was about those eyes that'd bothered him. When he'd spotted Hisoka staring at his window display there'd been such a light in his eyes that they'd seemed almost to glow, yet the eyes of the man in the photograph were entirely blank.

His mind keeps skittering back to attempt to rationalise just why this might be, keeps circling the memory of the woman's hand tight on Hisoka's arm and the sharpness of her tone…

"Perhaps you would be better off at home today, Tsuzuki." The remark draws his head back to reality, to the tense form of Tatsumi leaning against the entrance into his office and the spark of concern clear on his face.

"What on earth are you on about, Tatsumi?" He enquires as he makes a deliberate show of going back to his previous task of filling out performance reviews.

"For the first time in almost two decades your mind is not on the job, Tsuzuki, I mean in your first hour today you cut yourself more than you have in the last year and then there was that incident with the apricot syrup this morning…"

"I guess I was due an off day." He keeps the remark as flippant as he is able yet still Tatsumi is lent over his desk but a moment after the words have left his lips, displeasure clear in his eyes,

"That you have no wish to talk to me about whatever it is that's troubling you is fair enough, Tsuzuki, but I'd appreciate it if you'd not insult my intelligence." He states before snatching up the pen from his hand and adding, "Go home, do whatever it is you have to do to get yourself sorted out and I'll cover for you here."

He knows that tone well, knows that there shall be no arguing with the other and, gaining his feet, he circles his way out into the kitchen.

His hands are just burying their way into his coat pocket in search of a little warmth when he glances, once, over his shoulder and catches a brief glimpse of something that has him turning back towards the bakery.

Wakaba is at the counter today and she greets him with her usual warm enthusiasm before turning her attention back to the individual behind his swift change in course.

He is not, today, dressed in silken finery and yet there is no mistaking that hair, nor the almost artistic perfection of his form…shaking a little no matter how little sense that reaction makes he crosses the impossibly short distance between them and, with a confidence that is more bluster than actuality, he says,

"Perhaps I might be of assistance."

"Ah, yes of course, this gentleman is the owner of this establishment," Wakaba remarks as she steps back a little in order that Hisoka might, at last, look him in the eye.

He stays quite a moment more than is likely sensible yet the other seems not to mind, seems almost to be returning the fervour of his interest,

"Tsuzuki Asato, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance." The simple greeting feels leaden on his tongue and even to his ears there is the a clear American accent strong on every word, yet still Hisoka graces him with the smallest of smiles before he bows a beautifully elegant bow and responds,

"Kurosaki Hisoka and I can not help but wonder how you knew me to be Japanese despite the very…European…nature of my appearance."

"I happened to see you admiring my little collection of mousse yesterday afternoon and Kimono such as the one you were wearing are not precisely the most usual of dress for a true New Yorker and so I took a little risk."

A moment where the smile becomes paper thin as the other man likely relives the incident from the day previous then he is stating,

"I have recently been hearing many good things about your bakery, Tsuzuki-san and though I do not have much of a sweet tooth I will admit that I am keen to see if your goods live up to their reputation."

"Of course we bake things other than deserts and cakes here, though I will admit that they are my personal speciality." He states before he rounds the counter and secures a pair of tongs, "I think I might have something here that should suit your personal pallet."

He is working on cautiously extracting a portion of bitter sweet coffee lined mouse from the chill cabinet when he hears the minute shift in the other man's breathing pattern.

Of course it could be simply nothing…a subconscious reaction to a subtle shift in the temperature or condition of the air…yet he has lived too long with the memory of just what stress might do to a body to dismiss the matter out of hand and thus he is at Hisoka's side but an instant before the other man slumps into a faint.

"Oh, shall we take him into the back room?" Wakaba enquires voice calm despite the surprise clear in her eyes.

"I'm not sure Tatsumi will want to see me right now."

"Honestly the pair of you are like little children sometimes." She responds before stating, "You'll have to come to mine, though you talked me into it if my husband happens to come home early."

"Fine, fine…you know you never have told me why he's so spiky around me…"

OO

There is a clear moment of discomfort there is Hisoka's eyes when he again stirs, as though he is wincing against some expected blow, then the strange environment clearly sinks in for both that expression, as well as all others, fade entirely from his face.

"Where am I?"

"At Wakaba's house…that's the girl who was serving you before I cut in." He smiles in a deliberately open, friendly, way and the other man's face snaps, almost instantly, into a mask of suspicion,

"Why have you brought me here?"

"Because you need to allow your body chance to rest a little…to catch up with whatever strain you are putting it through and being as you fainted on my premises I sort of felt responsible for making certain that happened."

"Well you can consider your duty fulfilled." The words are sharp, angry and he can not quite understand why until the other man is stumbling up onto his feet and heading towards the bedroom door.

Hisoka is clearly a prideful and thus unwilling to ask for, or accept, help because of the weakness that such a thing represent.

In understanding that he knows he should at last accept that he has no place in this other's life, that there was little to their meeting but co-incidence and to the connection he felt with the boy but lust. His mind and his heart have never been comfortable bed fellows, however, and the moment Hisoka's legs give, again, out on him he is there hefting the other man back up onto his feet.

"There is no shame in accepting a little help, Kurosaki-san, no matter what you might have been raised to believe." He remarks once he is certain the other is not, as yet, going to attempt again to move unaided.

Dead green eyes linger on his face a long, tense moment, then, almost as one talking to a small child, the other man enquires,

"You know who I am, don't you?"

"I know who the press believe you to be and to whom they believe you connected."

Slowly, oh so very slowly, life sparks in the depths of those eyes and, looking infinitely younger than he had but moments previous the other states, "you're not frightened," with a soft sort of wonder clear in his voice.

"No, I'm just very angry."

"Why?"

"Because you do feel frightened no matter how much you're trying to make it seem otherwise, because I've just realised that you can barely be out of your teens and yet you reacted to your mother yesterday as though she were some unwanted object in your life."

Hisoka opens his mouth to argue back and yet seeing swiftly the folly in such a thing he simply slumps, boneless, against his side and states,

"I am in hell, Tsuzuki-san and if you try to help me, even just a little, you shall end up in hell also."

He guides the younger man back to the bed and as he steps away in order to secure them both a little refreshment, he responds,

"Then that is how it is."


	4. Muffins

4. Muffins.

I'd say we've a little upping of the sap here and just a smidge extra on the angst, otherwise things remain as they were for previous chapters. The plot is mine, the characters, I fear, are not.

X

They'd talked a little about their own memories of Japan, about a thousand other insignificant things, then Hisoka had asked him about the bakery and he'd found himself spilling out the entire story.

It felt strange to be telling such things to someone he'd only met properly all of an hour previous, especially when even Watari had heard only scraps of the story, yet he also felt somehow liberated, as though some unknown weight had suddenly lifted from his shoulders.

Hisoka had asked for stories of his childhood after that and he'd given them over willingly, reviling in a sense of personal victory every time the younger man smiled or even laughed at one of the hazy, wistful, anecdotes.

Eventually the younger man had fallen in a peaceful sleep and he'd left him alone with the almost certain thought that, sooner rather than later, Wakaba would be ringing with news that the other had fled without explanation. That thought along with the sense of helplessness it'd instilled in him and the anticipation of just what tomorrow might bring had made sleep nigh on impossible and, after two hours worth of tossing and turning, he'd ended out giving up entirely.

As with the other occasions that insomnia had gotten the better of him he'd trudged out to his living room with a blanket, slumped out onto his squigy little three-seater and allowed the tiredness to work it's weird little magic on recipe concepts.

At half eight he'd gone for a short shower, secured a hot cup of coffee and meandered his way down to the subway, checking both his home and mobile phone for any missed calls as he went.

Tatsumi was waiting for him at the bakery, arms folded and expectant expression clear on his face,

"Ok so you were right."

"Indeed," He responds before stating, "Apparently you were of aid to a patron after we parted ways yesterday."

"Oh, you've talked to Wakaba?"

"She phoned me last night to inform me that she had exchanged her shift with Tara's and she happened to mention the matter in passing."

Of course as the business accountant it'd made sense for Tatsumi to be left in charge of organising the staff and thus for Wakaba to have made the call was not so very concerning, the logic behind her moving from a shift she loved to one that she did not, however…

Morality tells him that he has done all that he can, has done more than will likely prove sensible and that, at the moment, he is better worrying about his own life. Thus he simply laughs off the matter entirely and gestures towards the door,

"Let's get this show on the road, shall we?"

He is very gently rolling out croissant dough when Tara's pretty little face appears at his elbow,

"Sorry to interrupt, chef, but your crazy haired buddy is after you, apparently it's sort of important."

Brow furrowing in concern he enquires, "Can you get this sectioned out for me while I'm gone?"

"No worries, I'll even stash the lot into the fridge once I'm done so you've got time to deal with whatever it is."

"Thanks, Tara." He responds, before washing his hands clear of flower and working his way through the kitchen and out onto the shop floor.

Watari is lurking by the beautifully wrapped mini brownie segments in the far corner of the store, the activity so typical, so nonplus that all his concern instantly transforms itself into frustration.

"You know 'important' actually means something to us normal human beings." He states as he gently extricates a bag from the Inventor's hand and places it back into the display.

"Hey, there's no need to get snappy with me, especially since I've just done you a giant favour."

"Right and now perhaps you could try that again, but from the beginning this time?"

Watari gives him the same, long suffering, look that often graced his face when he failed at getting him to comprehend just what some invention or another actually did, then he says,

"Wakaba-chan paid me a visit about an hour ago with a story and a very familiar individual on her arm."

"Ah…the thing is…"

Making a clear dismissive gesture with one hand Watari says,

"Apparently she was helping the boy pick out something from her Husband's wardrobe that might fit him when she spotted some scarring, which in turn got the boy telling her some abbreviated version of his story and then to her bringing him to me so that I could work my magic."

"Your 'magic'?"

"Oh now Tsu, I know Uni was a lifetime ago but surely you can recall how many awards I won while I was helping the Lovies out with their stage get-ups?" When it is clear that he still has not quite gotten the point that the Inventor is driving towards his friend lets out an exasperated breath of air and, somewhat dramatically, crosses his way to the front door.

"I give you the new, improved, Kurosaki Hisoka." He states as he flings the thing open with a force that has him wincing a little for the sake of the somewhat fragile display of muffins a few inches from its stopping point.

The concern for the merchandise is swiftly overwhelmed by the mix of shock and awe that the slight figure stood, somewhat shyly, in the doorway inspires. For though the shocking green of the eyes are still very much Hisoka's, everything else about the younger man's appearance has become…different.

Blonde hair has been dyed a rich, dark, brown and cut just enough to look more edgy than it had previously; elegant silks have been replaced with a simple mix of cotton and denim; finally his shoes are elevated enough either in the sole or the heal to give him a few extra inches of height.

"Now I know it's not really going to stand up to intense scrutiny, but hopefully it'll afford Bon a little anonymity." Hisoka shoots Watari a little glare for the nickname and the Inventor shrugs in an entirely dismissive way before stating, "Anyway, I've got a steam compressor I should be getting back to, so I'll catch you both later."

Hisoka stares at the door a long moment after Watari has breezed out and then, voice thick with curiosity, he enquires,

"Is he always like that?"

"Pretty much."

"Huh that might have been good to know about an hour ago."

"Right, ok and what happened an hour ago?"

"I let him talk me into stealing his spare room."

"Ok so you're helping me with the croissants so that I can hear this story from the beginning and keep on Tatsumi's good side." He remarks as he gently shoos the younger man in the general direction of the kitchen.

Two minutes and a half hearted protestation later he's gotten Hisoka cutting the croissant dough into perfect little squares and carefully distributing a spoonful of either almond paste or think chocolate and hazelnut spread into the centre.

Once he is on his sixth square he begins to talk in a slow, detached manner, his face void of emotions and his eyes fixed, rigid, on his task,

"When I don't behave as I should he cuts me, the scars are from that, little reminders of my failings and so I'm used to people seeing them and looking at me like I'm some idiot…like it's my own fault…but Wakaba-san got so angry and I couldn't understand why because I'd started to agree with them…started to believe that I really did deserve to be marked that way." His hands begin to tremble for anger that is bleeding into his voice and he is forced to pause a long while before he begins again both task and tale, "When I told Wakaba-san that she got angrier and forbid me from going back, so I told her how dangerous staying away was, told her how at risk everyone was simply for the sake of my presence in their lives and she dismissed it as easily as you did then took me to Watari-san."

"Who is versed enough on 'celebratory' gossip to know why you're afraid and to know that changing your appearance is the best bet we have to keeping you hidden, that much I get, what I want to know is how did you get from that to him inviting you in as his housemate?"

Hisoka actually colours a little at that and, more shy young man than scarred adult, he responds,

"He said that he's needed help with his rent for a while and that being as I'd clearly need somewhere more permanent to stay while I was 'working things through' and that I was actually really sort of cute underneath it all and Wakaba really couldn't put me up because she's trying for a baby and you've barely enough room for yourself let alone anyone else…"

"Yep, that sounds like Watari." He responds, smiling gently before enquiring, "So I suppose there's a new name to go along with this new appearance, isn't there?"

"Mm, it's 'Hijiri Minase' and Watari said that really I should have everyone use it from here on in so that I can react to it like it's my actual name, but…."

"It's a little strange, right?"

"No, not really, I was only ever called by name when I was in public; otherwise I was simply 'you'."

He squashes the anger that rises in his heart at that, snapping out at things that were done with would help no one, after all and instead he informs the younger man, "I think I'll keep using your true name when it's just us," before winking and adding "It can be our little secret."

"That was a terrible pun,"

"Right and that's why you're smiling, is it?"

"It's a pity smile; you know to make you feel better."

"Keep telling yourself that." He counters as he steps around behind the younger man's back and begins to, very delicately, shape the squares.


	5. Mocha Sponge

5. Mocha sponge.

T: Apologies for the semi late update this week but RL is kind of getting in the way of my free time at the moment in the form of a broken car! Beware the cliff-hanger that is the end of this one, otherwise all warnings remain about as they were. I still own only the plot.

X

Recently he'd befriended a random stranger (who just so happened to be not only son to one of the most dangerous men in New York but also the unwilling partner to the individual who did all of the afore mentioned dangerous man's 'dirty work') thanks to little more than a chance encounter and a gut feeling, yet _this_ was, by far, the most unnerving thing he had experienced.

Ok, so to be fair he was likely exaggerating just a little, but still…

"You look like you've just experienced hell freezing over." His best friend remarks in an offhanded sort of manner.

"It kind of feels that way; I mean _you can actually see the floor_." He gestures around the unnaturally spotless expanse of Watari's living room and turns back in time to see the Inventor rolling his eyes,

"Geeze you'd think I'd been living in some form of tip from the way you're carrying on."

"You were getting dangerously close, Watari-san." This last comes from the slight form of Hisoka, lent, in an easy sort of manner, against the frame of his bedroom doorway.

"It wasn't all that bad; I mean _I_ knew where everything was…" The litany of misunderstood woe carries on under the Inventor's breath and, shaking his head at the other's foolishness he settles himself down into the newly liberated sofa and enquires,

"You know that you could always have come helped us out if you were bored, right, Hisoka?"

The younger man gifts him one of the slow, warm, smiles that he seems to have reserved just for him and nodding, responds,

"Of course, but truthfully this was less out of boredom and more out of my own selfish want to be able to sit down without being scared of crushing San or some invention or another," Before he stretches a little and adds, "Anyway all this tidying has wiped me out so I'm going to go have five minutes."

"Ok, want me to call you when it's getting to lunch?"

"Mm, if you wouldn't mind." With that the younger man retreats, the sound of the door clicking close oddly loud in the sudden rush of silence.

"So…" if Watari's eyebrows got any higher they'd become sentient, something that, along with the half smile frozen there on his lips, is somewhat unnerving and, pulling a cushion close for use as a shield he enquires,

"So?"

"Tsu, we've know each other for more than a decade which, in turn, means that we can't hide anything from one another no matter how much we'd want to."

"Right, which means you think I am trying to hide something."

"Correct."

"Ok and that something would be?"

"You're totally and utterly in love with Bon."

For an instant the world goes white about him as his brain processes the words a good two seconds slower than his ears, then everything burns away into a fierce blush and the niggling litany of _'ohgodohgodohgodwhatifHisoka'srealisedtoo'_.

"Oooooh so you hadn't actually quite caught up with yourself, sorry, if I'd known that I'd have been a little softer." Watari remarks before snatching up the pillow and gently smushing him into the far corner in order that he might splay himself across the rest of the sofa. "You can stop looking all rabbit in the headlights about it as well, not only is this the sort of thing that only a best friend could really pick up on, but Bon's not exactly the most intelligent of beings when it comes to emotions."

Of course he can see why Watari would believe that, can see well that the face that Hisoka shows him when ever they are alone together is all together more certain than the face that he shows to everyone else and as with so much connected to the younger man he wishes to keep that knowing to himself.

Thus he smiles a smile that he hopes looks convincing to those well honed 'best friend' eyes and responds,

"I'm being silly, I know, it's not as though we've known each other all that long and given the life he's lived so far…."

"Well you were never one for the easy target, though this one is a little…spicy…even for you."

"It just feels right, you know?" The instant the question leaves his lips he regrets it and yet as he watches Watari's face fall into something a world away from happy go lucky Inventor he knows there shall be no taking it back.

"Yes, I know exactly what you mean." The other responds eventually, a wistfulness there now in his voice that fills him, once more, with self loathing.

The silence that follows is long and painful in a way that it hasn't been since that first chaotic meeting then Watari flops his feet up onto his legs and enquires,

"How about you make us something mind numbingly sweet and we sit our way through some really cheesy movies?"

"Hm, did Hisoka's little boredom spree spread its way to your fridge or maybe even your store cupboard?"

"Given that that boy only eats when you make him it's probably not likely."

"Ok so I'm making this mind numbing sweet thing out of what, precisely?"

"You have a point." The statement is made with a very deliberate sort of tone to the Inventor's voice and, narrowing his eyes, he enquires,

"You're angling for me to go buy stuff to make something, aren't you?"

"At eight thirty on a Saturday night? Please all that'll be left on the shelves at the local will be the short dates and the stuff no one else wants."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning I'm angling after a suggestion of upping sticks over to yours."

He stares at Watari with raised eyebrows, Watari stares back with a fake expression of desperation and pleading so strong that it actually manages to ace San's 'food now please' expression.

Letting out a frustrated little breath he pushes the other's feet back onto the floor and states,

"Ok I concede, give me a little time to get stuff and attempt to organise things a little. Hisoka is invited as well, of course, oh and in payment for manipulating me into this consider the movies your responsibility."

"What! But Tsu, I'm terrible at making choices even without time constraints and other such pressure."

"I know." He responds, smiling a smug little smile at his friend before gaining his feet and heading off towards their local supermarket, mind buzzing already with potential recipe ideas.

O

The sight of dark chocolate, then of instant coffee had prompted him to craft a decedent mocha cake, taking deliberate care to add only enough coffee to compliment rather than swamp the sweetness of the over all taste.

He'd packed away as much as he was able and shifted furniture to make things seem that little bit more spacious, after that he'd tested the cake before messing a little more with the furniture.

Watari barrels in a few minutes later, hair tied now into a messy pony tail and a small collection of DVD's balanced, some what precariously, in his hands.

"Hello, hello! Something smells amazing!"

"You know normal people knock." He remarks as he attempts, somewhat fruitlessly, to resist the temptation to search out Hisoka.

"Mm and that's why normal people miss out on all the fun things in life." The Inventor responds, pausing a moment to shuffle his burden before adding, "You are in America now, Bon, which means you don't need to lurk at the threshold before getting invited in."

The sound of quietly shuffling feet and then Hisoka is at the other's side, head turned down and posture clearly conveying his discomfort.

"Welcome, Hisoka, I'm sorry that your first visit here was under such strange circumstances." The remark earns him a small smile and, taking a little breath, he states, "Come sit down, I've got someone for you to meet."

Glancing briefly over to Watari, likely to determine if he has been lead into some random trap or another, the younger man nods, cautiously, before stepping round him and settling down into one of the two high back chairs that dominate the small square of space that is his living room.

Skittering back into the kitchen he secures the cake, clicks his teeth against the roof of his mouth in order to draw the attention of the room's other occupant, then cautiously inches his way back into the living room.

"Hisoka, this is Luka."

The instant the statement is out of his lips eight kilos of sesame coated Shibuya Inu is bounding over to the younger man, tail wagging excitedly as she snuffles her way around the boy's slender torso.

"Now, now, that's no way to treat a guest is it missy?" Watari enquires as he tackles the dog away from Hisoka and begins tickling at her stomach.

"She's beautiful, Tsuzuki." There is a curiosity clear in Hisoka's eyes as well as his voice and, settling gently down onto the floor beside the boy's legs he states,

"I loved the Shibuya Inu from the first time I met one as a little boy, something about their look or their nature bonding with a part of my heart that other little boys set aside for toy trains or cars.

"Mama promised me that if I could prove myself responsible enough to give them the intensity of care they needed then she and Father would buy me one for my tenth Birthday. Of course by the time I was ten there were things on my mind other than that promise and even if I had remembered animals were not at all welcome in our new home.

"Mama felt guilty always for that and when it became clear to her that her life was slowly ebbing away she had Father put some money aside so that, when he felt the time was right, he could surprise me with a much belated fulfilment of her promise.

"A few weeks after I'd bought the bakery I found Luka in a box on my doorstep, a note from Father explaining everything and a small collection of supplies bundled up next to her."

Hisoka nods once in a simple, silent, sign of comprehension and, feeling at ease once more he enquires, "Let's get this party started then, shall we?" as he leans up a little in order to pull the remote off of the table and switch on the TV.

A split instant of off white screen as the ancient thing crawls into life, then their local news channel is there before them in glorious Technicolor, his favourite presenter giving over grim news of a mysterious murder that'd occurred a few blocks from the bakery the previous evening.

"He's found me."

He wants to argue, to remind Hisoka of the nature of the city in which they are living and yet…


	6. Ube

6.

T: Yet another semi cliff like end to this chapter…well it was either that or you ended out with a mega chapter even more delayed than this one became so hopefully I can be forgiven. All warnings remain in place and I still own only the plot!

X

Wakaba is shaking still, the tremble of her hands communicating its way up the cup griped tight within it and travelling out in minute splashes of hot, sweet, tea.

"Perhaps it would be better if I phoned Terazuma-san." The statement earns him a firm glare and a shake of the head before she responds,

"He's such a worry wart that he'll only end out making this worse." Her eyes drift, once more, to the mill of people a few feet to their left and the still, blood soaked, figure splayed out at the centre of this group. "I just didn't think _I'd_ end stumbling across a Lost Boy, or that someone could be killed so brutally without making any sort of noise…I mean he was right outside my door and I didn't even know…." Tears choke off the rest of the thought and he slings a firm arm about her shoulders, offering support without the arbitrary addition of cliques such as _'it'll be ok'_.

It had been a week since Hisoka had stated, with little more to go on than one single unexplained murder, that Muraki knew where he was…that someone had died in order that the sociopath could drive home this fact as firmly as possible.

There had been six bodies since, each young, male, with little to connect them other than a permanent state of homelessness as well as the time and location of their murder.

Each 'Lost Boy' had been killed just after midnight, their mutilated bodies left within a tight, four mile, span of the Bakery. A pattern that'd led the police to his doorway but the day previous and that'd had him explaining as much of the current situation as he could without risking Hisoka further.

Of course they'd offered them both the security of Witness Protection for the price of a statement in court as well as the passing over of all evidence in Hisoka's possession of Muraki's connection to this, as well as countless other, killings.

Paranoia was a contagious thing, however, and he'd instantly refused, all too aware of just how easy it would be for Muraki to buy the knowledge of their new hiding place and destroy the threat they posed to him with a swift finality.

A part of him felt guilty for that choice now, for it had allowed Muraki the time to chase Hisoka's path all the way to Wakaba, yet the greater part of him was taking comfort in the fact that finding a body here meant that Muraki was still simply chasing Hisoka's shadow; that, for the moment at least, the façade of 'Hijiri Minase' was doing precisely as intended.

"Miss Kannuki?" The enquiry comes from the uniformed police officer stood now a few feet from where they are sat and is uttered with the gentle, neutral, tone that people in the profession seemed always to use when things were…fragile.

"Ah, you'll want a statement I suppose." Wakaba states, gaining her feet as she adds, "Thank you for coming, Tsuzuki…for being you."

He smiles an indulgent sort of smile at that and, shaking his head, he responds, "It's a gift," before gaining his own feet and adding, "Don't come in today unless you feel up to it, ok."

She nods a slow little confirmation and then leads the police officer across the threshold that had been as their perch for the last half hour and through into her living room. Only once the door closes and he is certain that she is, for the moment at least, somewhere relatively safe, he edges his way past the small space between wall and police tape, down the stairs and out into the fresh air.

He walks slowly, mind fogged with half formed thoughts that drift together in spark connections that make no real sense. He finds himself trailing through the winding byways of Prospect Park, the simple sent of green grass in summer sun and the buzz of life all about him as a lantern amid the fog, guiding his mental processes to a point where they make again a jumbled sort of sense.

Settling down within sight of the ordered beauty of the Japanese hill garden he searches out his mobile and, taking a deep little breath, sends a text. A moment later his phone beeps to signal a response and, smiling a little for its content, he gains his feet and all but runs down the snaking pathway, onto the broad expanse of Washington Avenue and onward to the Bakery.

He abridges Tatsumi of the situation as he begins grating away at cooked Ube, lining baking tins and mixing together dry ingredients for use in an unusual, though somewhat popular, Ube Macapuno.

Time sloughs away in the habitual actions of cake baking, his well trained nose picking up the subtle edges in the scent of the mix that mean a necessity for a touch more sugar or a hint of extra vanilla.

He is adding just the smallest hint of colouring to the butter icing when he becomes aware of eyes at the back of his neck and, suddenly very aware of every little subtle background noise, he very slowly spins on his axes.

He is met, not as he feared, with a crazed sociopath murderer wielding a sharpened blade, but rather with a clearly entranced Hisoka. It is a look that he has never seen before from the younger man, a look that makes him feel as though he has been dipped in ice water and that has him so very aware of every inch of space between them.

Again he finds his feet moving on some subconscious compulsion, finds himself pressing as tightly to the younger man as he can before pulling him up into a firm, firm, kiss.

It feels like a kiss should feel, all heat, pressure and the incomparable spike of lust; there is also an extra element that he has never felt before, an indefinable something that feels unreal, a vast ball of emotions; sensations and existentialism that he has seen described in a thousand flowery ways in the overweight, trashy, romance novels that Watari kept insistently passing in his direction.

They separate when oxygen becomes necessary and, pressing their foreheads together he says,

"We can't carry on like this."

A soft expulsion of air and Hisoka is pushing away from him; shoulders tense and face set in a clear expression of frustration,

"You see, this is why you shouldn't have simply shrugged your shoulders and acted like somehow it would all be ok…why you shouldn't have started to care for me or made me care in return."

"It's too late for that." He bites hard against the want to claim that it has always been as such, that since the very first moment he had seen Hisoka he'd wanted nothing else than to save him…

…to possess him.

"There is nothing we can do, Tsuzuki; _he'll_ keep circling closer and closer until…" He trails and for a moment he thinks that it's because the younger man has no want to voice the end of that sentence, that by doing as such he shall somehow make the matter reality, then a wild sort of a look enters Hisoka's eyes and he is exclaiming, "Of course, how could I be so stupid?"

"What is it, what have you thought of?"

"A mistake, though, of course, _he_ never really thought of it that way, what should _he_ have to fear from a seemingly incompetent Policeman, after all?" The enquiry is little more than the younger man thinking out loud, something that is made clear when, but an instant after posing it, he states, "There is a way."

X

T: Ube Macapuno is better known as "purple radish cake" and the lovely combination of the violet butter icing on the outside and the white coconut cream on the inside of the cake really jumped out at me while looking at the sort of cakes NY bakeries stock. I was going to keep away from specifying a location for Tsu's bakery, mainly because I've only actually seen teeny bits of both Long Island and NY City its self thus I'm not confident enough about the 'pulse' of the various communities to know where someone like Tsu would feel happy setting up shop. Then I needed somewhere pretty for his head to tick over and really, really, didn't want to go with Central Park because it felt clique…all of which led me to using the really attractive looking Prospect Park, which means that Tsu's Bakery is now, officially, somewhere in Brooklyn!


	7. Biscuit

7. Biscuit.

T: Cliff-hangers are becoming a bit of a theme at the moment….sorry guys. Warnings on the up, though to state which would constitute a spoiler so… I still own only the plot.

X

Hisoka is there waiting for him when he steps out the bakery to lock up, posture visibly more relaxed than it had been only seven hours previous.

"Things went well then."

"Well enough," pausing he steps close enough that he can feel the heat radiating from his body before enquiring, "Can I steal you for a little while?"

He has only to raise his eyebrows the barest of inches for the younger man to flush, clip him softly about the head and state,

"Not like that, perv."

"Spoilsport."

That has the younger man smiling despite himself and, he presses down for a swift, chaste, kiss before stating, "Give me a minute," and stepping a little from the other's side, rescuing his mobile as he goes.

Watari picks up on the third ring, a swiftness that is explained all of a second later when the Inventor enquires,

"You're not hurt are you, Tsu?"

"No…oh they've released the details of the most recent murder."

"About an hour ago…is Bon with you?"

"Yeh…it'll work out Watari, I promise."

"Right, ok, I'm holding you to that, alright."

"I'll look forward to being all smug." He responds, pausing a moment before enquiring, "Would you mind house sitting for an hour or so?"

"Ooh, you and Bon going on a hot date?"

"Something like that."

"In which case count me in!"

"Thanks, feel free to help yourself to biscuits and the TV, alright?"

"Hahaha like I needed your permission." The other retorts before hanging up and leaving him to silence.

"Right I'm all yours." The remark earns him the subtlest of blushes before the younger man is striding away, hands thrust firmly in his pockets.

He jogs a little in order that he might draw again level with the other and deliberately pretends not to notice when the younger boy deliberately slows his pace a moment later.

"I was sixteen when I was introduced to _him_ by my father, I was told that _he_ was to be my body guard, that he would protect me from the dangers in the world and he was so kind, so accommodating, that I actually believed.

"A week later _he_ took me to a stranger's house on some pretext or another, made me watch as _he _slaughtered everyone inside and then simply left me there. The man who owned the house was a young police detective who'd made catching _him_ his lives goal despite the warnings, the brutal murders a message that _he_ was not to be underestimated both for that detective and for myself also.

"Yet the detective saw the bodies of his most treasured people and did not flinch, he simply cried a little before cleaning me up and asking me to tell_ him_ that he would never give up. That _his_ message had simply made him angry rather than scared."

"He laughed, didn't he?"

"Of course, what threat could someone like that be to him, after all?"

"This is the mistake you were on about earlier, isn't it, Hisoka?"

The younger man nods slowly, his face so lost that he can not stop himself from catching a gentle hold of a thin, chilled, hand and wrapping it tight within his own.

They walk a long while in silence as such, Hisoka pressing close enough to him now that he can almost feel that slight weight against his shoulder…can almost imagine what it would be to have that weight tangled against him in the softer edges of twilight.

Eventually Hisoka stops before a well weathered brick building, a building that looks precisely as all the other's nestled tight about it, as so many mid rent properties in this area of Brooklyn, and, leasing his hand at last, he states,

"That detective found me the week after the matter at the Museum, he told me that he had pierced _his_ network under a false name, that he had been at the very heart of the discovery of the forgeries, that the investigation had been forced underground thanks to the murders rather than set aside as the press would have everyone believe. He offered me the chance to help then, the chance to step away from _him_ but I said no because I had also begun to believe that _that man_ was untouchable."

"You were frightened, Hisoka, there is no shame in that."

"Not frightened, Tsuzuki, but selfish, for I was thinking only of my own life…my own welfare."

Again distress writes a clear path across the younger man's face and again he finds himself stretching to bridge the divide between them, this time by simply drawing the other into a firm embrace.

The softest of sighs and then Hisoka says,

"Having you in my life has made me want to change that aspect of my character along with so many others…has made me want to believe in the impossible." As the younger man presses up for another hard, unrelenting, kiss, he can not help the idle curiosity of just how much he deserves such sacrifice, nor the discomforting sensation that he has somehow manipulated the other at his most vulnerable.

That guilt has him breaking the contact as it becomes clear that the younger man is loosing himself in the rush of desire and, deliberately placing space again between them, he enquires,

"So why are we here?" voice thick and heavy despite his best efforts.

Hisoka simply watches him a long moment with a shocked confusion and then, blinking slowly, he responds,

"The detective told me that if ever I changed my mind I would be able to find him here, he even wrote me down the directions and made me repeat them…it seemed so pointless at the time…"

The understanding that this unknown other had also been able to see that there was more to Hisoka than the prideful, abrupt and unsociable façade that the younger man wore as shield, sparks a contracting mix of jealousy and comfort.

Jealousy because he had liked feeling as though he was the only one with such insight…liked how connected to the younger man that sensation made him feel...and comfort because the insight meant that he had realized just how at threat the younger man had been and had had patience enough to wait until Hisoka felt able to risk himself rather than simply push as many others would.

"Would you like me with you, or perhaps for me to wait out here for you?"

"Thank you…" He turns his head to the sky and, lips twisted into a smile that speaks more of gratitude than joy, he continues, "I think that I would be better talking to him alone for now…it'll do my confidence some good if nothing else…as to you waiting out here, there's rain coming and I have no want for you to get a chill for my sake."

"In which case make certain he finds someone to walk you home…I know that company is likely not something _he_ would worry about but it'll ease my mind a little."

"Mm, I may yet call you to walk me home again…would that be ok?"

"Of course." A long moment where it is clear that Hisoka is waiting for him to press in for another kiss, to ease the odd atmosphere that his guilt has settled between them and then the younger man is stepping up into the meager shelter of the doorway without so much as a goodbye.

He waits until the slight figure is inside the building, in what he has to believe safety for the sake of his sanity, before he trails the long, lonely, path back to his neighborhood.

He is just taking the shortcut though a small, cluttered, alleyway when a stranger's voice bids him a good evening.

Panic like ice across his skin, then, chastising himself for allowing the paranoia to leach so hard into his life that he feels almost as though he is jumping at shadows, he smiles a half felt smile and responds in kind.

The stranger, a tall, elegantly dressed man of some indeterminable stage of his lives journey glances up at the sky and enquires,

"Is your home close by?" The stranger laughs a little but a moment after and adds, "Sorry for being so forward, but I notice that your coat is somewhat expensive, that the threatening rain will ruin it entirely and being as I have but a few more feet to walk and an umbrella to hand…"

"Ah, thank you but I'm also close enough that I should be able to escape the worst of it." He responds before adding, "I haven't seen you around before."

"I'm stealing a couch for a few days…you know how work is."

"Indeed, thanks again for the offer."

A beautiful roll of shoulders as the stranger shrugs off the matter as empty nothing and then he is off again, humming now some happy tune.

He is humming the thing himself by the time he is stepping into the house and he had expected some remark on this fact by Watari.

There is only silence.

Again the ice chill of panic and his feet walk him into the living room.

Blood.

Oh god there is blood everywhere.


	8. Ice chips

8. Ice chips.

T: Technically I guess you could count this one as a cliff hanger as well…lets blame a want to instil dramatic tension and be done with it, shall we? Anyway, a little bonus warning for vague mentions of stomach purging (for those uncomfortable with that sort of thing) in the first few paragraphs, otherwise we're about level with the last chapter! I still own only the plot and, I suppose, one character who crops up along the line….

X

He wakes to the unmistakable scent of hospital disinfectant, his head muzzy enough that, momentarily, he can't think why he should be able to smell that sent and then…

A hot, dry, sensation crawling at the back of his throat has him wrenching himself out of bed and stumbling, like a drunken man, towards the toilet basin.

He is stretching trembling fingers towards the flush when a familiar voice enquires,

"Would you like a hand back to the bed?"

Slowly, as though swift movement will somehow alter the reality of what he knows to be behind him, he turns towards the man lent, somewhat self consciously, against the door.

"Dad?"

He smiles the aching, shaky, smile that brings with it sharp memories that cut into scars he'd long thought healed and he knows then that he is not dreaming.

"My number is still listed as first contact priority in your medical record…clearly you're still fairly absent minded even after all these years."

Of course it would be so easy to snap at that, especially when he is feeling so very…fragile…yet it has been so long since last he actually saw his father and he looks so old…

Silently he offers the other his hand and allows himself to be guided back to the bed before he enquires,

"So how much do you know?"

"Your young man filled me in as much as he felt safe for me to know about the surrounding circumstances and there was police man here earlier who told me a little about the crime scene itself…Asato, I know that you treasured Luka so and that to find her like that would have been shocking, but I do not see…" He raises a hand to stop his father before he talks himself any further from this matter and, heart in his throat, he enquires,

"What actually happened, Watari was looking after Luka for me while I helped Hijiri and so when I saw…that…I thought…" His mind runs again ahead of him, filling out the terrible reality of what he might have allowed to happen to one who had been almost as brother to him and, once more, he stumbles his way to the toilet.

Once he is again settled in bed, hands clenched tight about a cup of thinly sliced ice chips, his father informs him,

"The police officer told me that the large extent of the blood and…other matter…came from an animal, though there were patches of human blood against one wall and signs of a struggle at the doorway."

Though his heart aches still for the loss of his precious companion, for the useless waist of her life, the knowledge that Watari might yet be alive…might yet be saved…brings him back to himself at last.

"Is Hijiri still here?"

A nod of the head and then his father states, "Asato, I'm sorry that your life had to come to this before I could accept what it had been before...that we have drifted so far away from one another that I might as well be a stranger," before he steps up and out into the hallway.

A mumbled moment as a conversation occurs just beyond the range of his hearing and then Hisoka is crossing into his room, a hint of shadow in his eyes that has him asking,

"You've not slept, have you?"

A shake of the head and then the younger man is there at his side, hands tangling tight into his own as he settles into the chair that his father had occupied not two seconds previous.

"None of this makes sense…bodies are left whole so that they can still be identified, so that the message hits home…it's always human lives because human's fear their own mortality beyond everything and murder insights the selfishness of that fear more than anything else…bodies are left where the message makes most impact, where he can show just how strong and sure he is…"

"So he's changed things."

"But _why…_I might understand if it was _you_ and yet for it to be Watari, especially given the risk involved in taking a hostage…"

Something clicks home then and, feeling as though someone has doused him in ice water, he responds,

"He thinks that you…care…for Watari."

"Because someone saw Wakaba bring me to the flat…because no one has seen 'me' leave since." The same shock of terror that'd coursed through his body shivers its way through the younger mans before he states, "If I stay hidden away beneath the security 'Hijiri Minase' offers me_ he'll_ second guess his actions and kill Watari without hesitation."

"What do you mean by that?"

"He means he's decided to do _the right thing_." This last comes from the strange man lent now against the frame of the doorway, the man who looks every inch as though he has come out of some ancient film noir and who flashes him a crooked smile before stating, "Kane Douglas AKA 'Kaichou' AKA the guy who's not going anywhere until Kazutaka Muraki is strapped tight to an electric chair."

"Oh, the detective."

"Hm well my job title's a little more complicated these days but that's about the long and short of it." Another crooked smile and then, "That Kazutaka has captured your friend rather than simply killing him tells us that this has all been about getting our boy back alive…all about retrieving what he sees as his…so we give him what he wants, make him think he's won and play that belief to our advantage."

There are a thousand things that can and likely will go wrong…a thousand possible things they have not thought of…and yet…

They have been pushed, forcefully, into a corner.

"You'll want a moment, I'm sure." Kane remarks before he spools back out of the room, clicking the door shut behind him as he goes.

"Your father is going to go with you somewhere far away from New York, somewhere that I know _he_ won't look, because the second he knows I'm Hijiri it won't take long for him to realize that _you're _the lynch pin and not Watari."

"Hisoka..."

"Its suicide, I know… _god _I think even Kane knows that deep down but we've been pushed so far that there's really no other choice." He pushes in for a deep, prolonged, kiss and then, face settled back into the blank impassiveness that had once been its natural state, he strides out the doorway.

A beat and his father is stood in the vacant space, arms folded against his chest and mouth shaping to ask,

"So, what do you want to do?"

"I _want_ to stop him...want there to be some other choice here and yet I know that he's right."

"You love him." It is statement rather than question and, the shear desperate grief of the situation sticking the words in his throat; he is forced to nod his head in confirmation. "He made me bring a bag and gave me the money to hire a taxi out to JFK…there shall be some tickets waiting for us, though he didn't say how to find at which desk, or even under what name he's left them."

"Mama's maiden name and I'll know where which desk we want once we get there…did you pack the passports?"

Silent confirmation and he slides his mind onto the next point on the mental list he is swiftly compiling in order to keep himself busy…to keep himself from thinking too long or too hard on what the next 24 hours might bring.

"You need to find a Doctor so I can get checked out of this place."

X

T: For those that didn't quite get it despite giant nickname hint Kane=Kanoe though he's younger here and a little OOC due to the affects of alternate life situation! I did toy with the idea of 'the detective' being entirely OC but being as he's kind of central to at least the proceedings of the next chapter that felt difficult, plus this way I get one more YNM character into verse!


	9. Bamukuchen

10. Bamukuchen.

T: In which we reach the end of this story, though possibly not the AU as there are a few loose ends I may tie up at some point or another that weren't large or serious enough to fit in here! The warning of violence/nastiness goes up another teeny notch. I still own only the plot and Tsuzuki's father, though that one's only on a technicality!

X

Travelling always makes him feel muzzy, his mind floating into the blank nothingness named 'day dreaming' and his body relaxing into a half aware state. It is a state that he is certain is thanks to the long periods of time he spent riding the trains as a child and that is solely responsible for his continual lack of drivers licence.

Somehow even now his mind has managed to slip away and so it is only when he feels his body jarring hard against itself that he realises that they have just been forced off of the road, that for the last five minutes his father has been glancing up in his rear-view mirror with increasing frequency and a deepening frown.

The car rolls, he can feel the bone in his left wrist punching it's way through his skin…can hear his father crying out for the pain of some injury or another and then…

A heartbeat and his seatbelt is being undone…his bruised body dragged out of the car and kicked, hard enough to crack at least one rib, before he is twisted up into a sitting position.

He recognises the man before him, pain, along with the overwhelming sense of disconnection he is currently feeling, meaning that for an instant he does not know why and then the other is smiling,

"You…the man who offered me his umbrella…"

A dramatic bow and then the other is remarking, "Good evening, Tsuzuki Asato, forgive the belated introduction but I am Muraki Kazutaka."

"That's not…"

"Possible? I'm afraid to tell you that it is entirely possible, everything that's happened this last week has been little more than a game, after all."

For a brief moment he is swept into a terrible thought of what the other might mean by that statement and then he sees how the smile has grown on that sophisticated face,

"You…you're trying to trick me."

"But of course, I am a murdering sociopath, after all." The smile snaps, instantly, from his face then and, bending to bring their faces level, he states, "It didn't have to come to this, of course, but you insisted on being stubborn and keeping Bouya despite my asking nicely for him back."

"He isn't…he isn't a possession or a pet."

Muraki smacks him firmly across the face then, the blow enough to shatter his nose and fill his mouth with the hot, metallic, taste of blood,

"It seems you are stupider than I believed you."

He raises back up onto his feet and turns a little away...

…in his minds eye he sees himself moving up despite his injuries, taking the murderers neck into his hands and choking the life out of him…

…he is, of course, too weak, both in body and mind, to follow through such fantasies, thus he can only sit and wait for the inevitable.

"Why…why did you take Watari…if you knew the truth?" Each word is as hot lead against his chest, each breath a searing agony and in the depths of his terrified heart blooms the corrosive want to simply goad the other into killing him and ending it all.

The smile grows ever the wider and he knows then that his every thought must be clear there on his face for the other too see, knows then that no matter what he does the murderer intends to drag this as far as he can for the simple pleasure of watching him suffer.

"Allowing Bouya to believe me fooled by the fiction of Hijiri Minase would also allow him confidence enough to feel that he could go against me and once he felt as such I knew he'd turn to Douglas for help."

"I can't…believe that you'd need…him smoked out…that you weren't…watching him somehow this entire time."

"Which is sensible, it was child's play to detect Douglas trying to snake his way into my organisation. Finding out who else is involved in the entire matter, who'd even dare think that they might double cross me without ramifications, has, however, proven frustratingly impossible."

"So you use this matter to draw Douglas…out so that you might…torture the information from him."

"Indeed and in order to achieve that end I needed Bouya to believe me so fooled that I would take an 'innocent' man hostage in order to push him into exposing himself."

"Then Watari is…dead already?"

"What would the point be in that? I wanted to see you so that I could see why Bouya was so taken and so I let someone else set up your house rather than risk missing you. That means your friend will testify to the crime being committed by that someone else, that he'll be caught, put in prison and hopefully taught a lesson about doing his research." A beat and then, "Oh, talking of which I really must apologise for that matter with the dog. I'd offer to fund a replacement but there really doesn't seem much point given that I'll be killing you in a minute."

He stretches, calm and lazy as though he has just woken up from a particularly good nights sleep, then, almost like magic; he shakes a sharp, sharp, knife into the palm of his hand.

"A pity, really, that you had to be so very stubborn…you seem like fun, after all." Again the emotion switches from his face and, in a matter of fact sort of manner, he adds, "I'd make your peace with whatever deity you believe in, Tsuzuki-san."

He feels the blade of the knife like a hot shock of electricity, his tired mind filtering the pain out into the larger mass of agony coming from wrist; nose; ribs, until it's almost as though there is no pain at all.

The world is going fuzzy about the edges as it all becomes too much and his body starts to shut itself off, one sense at a time and so the gunshot becomes muffled enough that he believes Muraki to have stepped on a dead tree branch.

The blood blooming its way out from the other's stomach settles that particular confusion fairly swiftly and he watches it staining crisp white shirt; expensive pressed trousers, so intently that his vision tunnels in…

…that he can see crimson long after the darkness has at last swum entirely over his consciousness.

O

He wakes, once more, to the scent of antiseptics, the IV line in his arm and the course texture of bandages everywhere against his skin as unnecessary reminder of just why this is.

Hisoka is sat, quietly reading, on the visitor's chair, his expression and posture one of innumerable content.

He attempts to call out to the younger man and yet he finds himself unable to quite catch the breath needed for the effort, finds the pleasant fog of painkillers growing ever thinner with each repeated attempt. Thus in the end he simply stretches as far as he can towards the other, the movement enough to register on the younger man's periphery and to bring the full force of those amazing eyes directly onto him.

"Welcome back." He remarks before passing him a pen and a thick notebook from up off his lap.

Carefully he scratches out an enquiry of,

'**What happened?'**

"Kane always knew that _he_ was aware of his presence in his organisation, knew that he was desperate to get his hands on the names of the others' in the organisation who were not so very loyal and the instant he saw my face again he understood that _he_ was up to something.

"We had no choice but to wait for him to play his next move…for that terrible thing to occur…before we could know exactly what his plan was and the best way to move forward." He sounds so very guilty and, he writes the response of,

'**You weren't to know…apparently what happened in the house was something not even **_**he**_** expected.' ** Before adding, **'Father shot him, didn't he?'**

"Yes." He tangles their hands together before he continues with, "We talked a little in the hospital while waiting for you to come too and he asked that he might be made a part of whatever it was I was planning. I tried to talk him out of it, of course, but apparently your stubbornness was passed down, plus Kane liked the idea of using someone _he_ didn't know outside of passing background research…someone whom that research would make seem the smallest of threats."

'**I don't understand.'**

"Your father is very much a traditional Japanese man, that's why he reacted the way he did when you told him about your…preferences…and why his having a gun concealed about his person would seem impossible."

'**Ah, because in Japan guns are carried only by the military and the police.'**

"Right," A beat then, "Kane and I would carry on precisely as though we believed ourselves safe, coming to _his_ home in order to reveal my identity as Hijiri Minase, while your father kept up the pretext of my wanting you somewhere safe when this reveal happened, all the while alert to the fact that_ he_ would be coming to kill you."

'**How is he? Oh and Watari? I think the pain meds are making my head fuzzy.'**

A genuine smile full of amusement and a little soft affection, the teasing response of, "I'm not so certain that you can blame the meds for that, Tsuzuki," before he states, "Watari is as well as can be expected in the circumstances, he told me to let you know that he tried to stop _his_ underling from hurting Luka but that he got knocked unconscious for his efforts. Your father is…shaken…the accident wasn't quite what he was expecting and the shock meant that he got to the gun a little later than he'd have liked, indeed I get the distinct impression that he thought he was a little too late."

'**Will they charge him?'**

"Kane assures me not, apparently even if there wasn't a clear argument for justifiable self defense he knows a few judges who will dismiss the whole thing out of hand because with _him_ dead they can finally get Father convicted."

'**Are you ok with that…I mean I know that you're not close to your father but he's still your father and it's likely that your mother will get convicted as well, right?'**

"More than likely, she's been there at his side for more than one of the nastier schemes and I'm certain she's spearheaded a few along the way." He runs his free hand through his hair, his face a picture of conflicted anguish before stating, "I thought that I'd given up on loving them years ago, when they gave me to _him_ as though I was little more than another gift of appreciation, but it seems that's not quite the case."

'**It'll get better…with time.'**

The younger man starts at that and then, face stretching out into a truly beautiful smile, he responds,

"You're right and I've that time now…I've all the time in the world."

'**That's right…you're free now.'**

"Mm well first things first we've got to get you well so that I can try you're your 'world famous' Bamukuchen and then we've got to scheme a way to get that accountant of yours noticing Watari and then…"


End file.
